


Succeed the Reaper

by ember_alda



Series: Realms of Influence [11]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Bittersweet, Drama, Gen, Inheritance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_alda/pseuds/ember_alda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamamoto just wanted to show him the true greatness of Squalo’s style, his genius. One time you think he’s charging straight on, but his hand flips back to stab from behind, another time it’s gunpowder from blades, then you think it’s a direct slice, and it is, but the meeting of those swords paralyzes you. Always a step ahead in some wholly unpredicted direction, that was the subtlety, the genius that made Yamamoto want to fight him again and again and again...</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	Succeed the Reaper

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt: _Yamamoto trains a new rain guardian who knows nothing about Squalo, but in a strange order of succession, ends up learning his moves._

 

Fino had been standing for a while now near the door. Reborn hadn’t told him anything but that he should come to this bar, and wait for his instructor. He’d gone in, just like any other day, expecting more hellish training where he was shot at and expected to dodge at marathon speed, but instead Reborn had simply shoved him out the door with those curt instructions. Not even knowing what this instructor looked like, he was expected to float about and find the mysterious guardian and hope that somehow it pans out.

Ten more minutes of agonizing fidgeting later, Fino finally gives in and walks further inside the place. His patience could only hold out for so long before he decides to storm out of this ridiculous parody, so the young man makes himself sit down at the counter, forcing himself to calm down and relax his antsy nature.

He gets an iced tea, despite the fact that it made him feel awkward in a bar, but if he was expected to train today there shouldn’t be any alcohol in his system. Fino looks around again, eyes darting covertly as he tries to fathom who is who in the warm yellow lights of the main room.

“Waiting for someone?”

The question catches him off guard as Fino swings himself all the way around on his stool to see the man whose back engulfs his view. A consummate Italian, the older man talked easily with a clear tumbler in his hand, suit sitting comfortably on his shoulders as if settled down there over time. His hair is short and dark, near his temple and at the edges sprinkled grays and whites of salt and pepper hair. It wasn’t till he turned that Fino was startled.

In a foreign face, a pair of warm, friendly amber eyes smiled at him, deep wrinkles gathering at the edges a sign that it was an expression familiar to the man.

“Do you need help finding them?”

Despite the strong Asian features, the soft rolling consonants are spoken flawlessly, the man somehow not looking at all out of place. Fino didn’t know what to say to such an arbitrary offer of help- maybe it was an Italian thing.

“Um…it’s fine. Just not sure how long I’m supposed to wait.”

The older man chuckles a little as he takes a sip from his glass. “Sent out without clear instructions either, huh?”

It’s not so bad to chat a while, at least something will entertain him while he waits. “Waiting for somebody too?”

A roughly tanned hand raises itself to scratch at the slice of shined skin barely suppressed by the even gray stubble on the man’s chin. It seems an easy, habitual gesture. “I usually come here, but today I was expecting to see someone. Guess I should have asked more questions.”

“Yeah.” Fino fidgets again, never really all that easy around strangers, but he supposes it was polite to try and think of something to say. “I can’t sit still very often if I keep expecting something to happen.”

Another laugh spills warmly from the man’s lips as he finishes off his glass. “Maybe some alcohol will soothe you. Whenever I got nervous S-someone I knew would shove whiskey down my throat.”

“I really shouldn’t drink anything-” The scowl and harsh lines forming on the young man’s head was bemusing, considering he had just said he needed to relax.

“Hey, one more for my friend over here.”

Fino turns in surprise, shaking his head mutely, trying to politely refuse the kindly thought offer before his eyes grow wide. The hand, raised to hail the barkeep down, was decorated with a heavy silver ring, nothing unusual, but it was the sole stamp on it that identified him.

“You’re the rain guardian.”

Yamamoto blinks, momentarily stunned that this stranger knew who he was, till he realized.

“Reborn really should make things clearer.” Another laugh rolls out, and Fino has the feeling that this man was prone to it. The young man frowns again, irritated at the fact that he’d just wasted twenty minutes of his life when the stupid baby could have just described him, or heaven forbid, just set up a personal meeting. The older guardian didn’t even seem phased, was he really alright with this?

“I _hate_ being jerked around.”

A tug at his sleeve alerts Fino to the fact that Yamamoto had gotten up off his seat.

“C’mon kid, let’s go test yourself out.”

Fino had the feeling that this guy did everything at his own pace.

-0-

“Fuck, Stop using the back of your blade!”

Yamamoto’s expression never dulled from his habitual friendly smile. Fino was pretty energetic today; it was actually kind of funny, but he didn’t want to hurt the kid’s pride by saying it.

“It doesn’t matter if I use the back or the front, it won’t matter if you can’t even control the fluctuation of your flame. I can feel you coming from a mile away.”

Across the room the new young guardian tries to suck in air as fast as he could, the labored breaths not so much coming from physical exertion, but from the effort it took to control the haphazard spurts of flame coming from his rank C ring. Well, that and the fact that he just wanted to wipe that smug expression off Yamamoto’s face. Did the man have to be so irritating?

“If you’re going to fight you have to concentrate on two things at once, the sword and the flame. It’s better if you just get used to using a ring so it becomes second nature, so you don’t have to worry about it during battle.”

Fino tries to calm himself down; despite the frustration mounting up inside him he knew that Yamamoto was right. There wasn’t a point in ignoring the flames but three hours of trying to wrestle through this tedious practice was wearing him thin. Couldn’t he just rush through and slice everything out of his way, for once?

“Hey, let’s take a break for a bit. I’ll show you something you can use. It seems to suit you.”

“Huh?”

Fino only watches Yamamoto’s turned back as he walks across the room. There’s no flame barrier, no sensory tendrils feeling out his opponent, just a pure, forward stance as Yamamoto braces himself. Fino suddenly feels uneasy at the straight calm in his mentor’s eyes, something about the plain, serious way Yamamoto held himself made the younger man think this wasn’t just a simple technique.

A swing of the blade alerts Fino to the fast advance Yamamoto made, startling him as he valiantly tries to block the blow. He almost touches the older man by cutting up to counter-attack Yamamoto’s exposed back, but from a twisted point around him another lightning strike curves about to try and take his side. A quick, frantic scramble backwards floors Fino, before he rolls off to the side and upwards in a defensive stance.

What was Yamamoto thinking? The way his attacks were positioned, the sword strokes- everything was so sharp and unfamiliar, an edge of almost viciousness coloring his moves that was unlike his normal calm, fluid style. Fino quickly learns to dodge, attack trajectory not all that hard to figure out, instead the enormous speed of movement was the only hard thing to counter. He’d managed to catch numerous strikes, the blows connecting with his sword solidly as he got used to the rhythm and deflected.

As Fino whirls around after another attack he crouches down, and just as he was about to rush forward to take out Yamamoto at his knees, he froze. Every muscle within him that had been screaming to move suddenly falls numb, his arms nothing but dead-weight and his legs paralyzed and stuck to the ground as all the momentum that had been building up grinds to a halt.

Across from him, Yamamoto stands with his katana at his side, not even waiting for an attack. There’s an indefinable flicker in his eye before the older man laughs at himself and steps forward.

“There’s more to straight-forward attacks then you think, right Fino?”

He collapses to the ground, limbs still trembling a little, but feeling coming back like pins and needles after sitting too long. Another scowl erupts over his face as he glares up at the rain guardian. “What was that? I thought I was doing well.”

“A move- someone I knew was fond of. Attacco di Squalo.”

A little contrary moue pinches Fino’s lips. “Shark attack? Tacky.”

Yamamoto’s eyes go wide at that, mouth quirking before he suddenly burst out into full laughter. A minute goes by, Fino still mildly upset that he’d not seen through anything when he’d been catching all the blows, as Yamamoto tries to calm himself down.

“Ahaha. Fino, you’re my favorite student, you know?”

“I’m your only student.”

Yamamoto wipes the tears from his eyes as he collects himself. It didn’t matter, he was glad Reborn had told him to take this on.

“Well, you did do very well. _Attacco di Squalo_ just purposefully makes straight on moves so the opponent will cross swords numerous times with you. It’s a technique where the force of the blow is dispersed into the opponent’s arm and body to paralyze their nerves for a few seconds.”

Fino’s eyes go wide. That- that was so- sneaky! Underhand!

A hand comes down and pats the kid’s shoulder before his observations could come out of his mouth.

“Think about it for a while, Fino. You’ve got a great energy with your sword, but there’s more than one way to do anything. You don’t have to be such a stickler all the time. Expand yourself a little, have some variety. It can surprise you sometimes.”

-0-

 _“ Haha, c’mon Squalo, it’s not that hard. See, you first lift the point up at-”_

 _“Voiiii! Why do I have to learn this stupid crap? I already know all I want to know about the Shigure Souen Style! If I wanted to know more I could do it by myself.”_

 _Another laugh. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Squalo. C’mon, it’ll be fun! You taught me Attacco di Squalo, I just want to return the favor. You can learn the technique that defeated you in the ring battles!”_

 _Another displeased frown wrinkles Squalo’s brow. He hated being reminded of his failures. “Tch. Whatever, you’ll just pester me and pester me till I do it. How did you learn to be so irritating?”_

 _Yamamoto pulls Squalo to him, forehead naturally falling to connect with the other’s as he smiles, eyes intent, as weirdly enough, he feels happy at the criticism._

 _“I don’t know, I was taught by the best.”_

 _After a long pause Squalo irritatingly elbows him in the side, more at the mushiness of the moment then at the sentiment behind it. Still head to head, he speaks, not quite fondly._

 _“Hah, you’re such a nuisance.”_

At the ding of the coffee maker Yamamoto wakes from reminiscing. He goes over to the private kitchen and gathers up his cup and spoon, face not in his habitual smile as somehow, like always, his eyes are drawn to the ring. Two halves, fused together, handed to him.

He doesn’t know why he taught him one of Squalo’s signature attacks. Somehow, everything was revolving and Yamamoto was getting the most disconcerting sense of de ja vu. Usually quiet, a stickler for rules and plans, the new guardian seemed to enjoy regularity and efficiency. Those quick spurts of temper and that head on movement were _so reminiscent_ , though. Fino was such a direct kid, even if in anything else the boy was nothing like Squalo.

His protégé liked quick, debilitating attacks and straight lines of movement, but without Squalo’s subversive tactics. Yamamoto just wanted to show him the true greatness of Squalo’s style, his genius. One time you think he’s charging straight on, but his hand flips back to stab from behind, another time it’s gunpowder from blades, then you think it’s a direct slice, and it is, but the meeting of those swords paralyzes you. Always a step ahead in some wholly unpredicted direction, that was the subtlety, the genius that made Yamamoto want to fight him again and again and again...

The coffee cup clacks down.

He hopes, however contradictory it may be, that he won’t have to give up this ring anytime soon.

-0-

“What does it matter if I conserve the flame or not?! It all does the same thing, right? Who cares if I use a little more this time then the next?”

Fino was getting antsy again, Yamamoto could tell. It’d been another trying concept for him, after he’d mastered enough of Squalo’s move. The hard, physical work and practice was over, which was Fino’s easier area, and now he was struggling again with the flame.

“It doesn’t matter, if you’re caught because your reflexes are slow from exhaustion, what do you have left to defend yourself with if you’ve used all your flame?”

“But I wouldn’t _get_ exhausted-”

“Fino! How long do you plan to live?”

The kid blinks at the non sequitur. What did that have to do-

“Do you plan on growing old, or having kids, or even just protecting the Eleventh till _he_ can grow old? How much slower do you think you’ll be when you’re thirty? Forty? Fifty?”

An exasperated hand comes up to swipe back the loose gray hairs from Yamamoto’s forehead. For once, he’s not smiling, or laughing, he simply looks worn. It’s the first time Fino thinks he’s ever noticed the other guardian’s age, and his eyes can’t move away now, fixed on the wrinkles on the older man’s head, around his mouth, under his eyes.

“People _die_ from these “tiny things”. I’m…forty-six? And I can tell you, I get tired easily, my reflexes are slower, my muscles can’t recover like they used to. Battle needs the full volume of your ability, and I’m only human. I get exhausted, there are hard opponents, you need to save up every little advantage you can. Don’t throw away useful energy, Fino. You’ll appreciate it later.”

There’s no sullen pout on Fino’s lips this time, his head is simply bowed as he takes the small lecture in. Gathering himself up again, he brings his sword in front of him and tries the exercise again, the B rank ring on his hand now shining steadily instead of fluctuating like before.

Yamamoto tries to concentrate on his student but that outburst simply won’t let him. It wasn’t uncommon in the Mafia world for assassins to die young, let alone of old age. It’s something of a bitter truth that even if you’re good enough to make it till you’re older, there’re always new enemies, younger enemies, and Squalo had-

It doesn’t take Yamamoto long to wonder how many more years he would have left before he was cut down. Five? Three? Tomorrow? There were still a few years left before the Eleventh was fully instated as the Vongola head and Yamamoto doesn’t know if he’ll make it to retirement. Since Fino and the other new guardians would be around to help Tsuna too, the chance was lessened, and somehow he feels resentful that Squalo had decided to leave Yamamoto to grow old on his own. Not that he already hadn’t…

He had laughed all the way to the hospital because it was ridiculous that Squalo would die. In his head, he’d still thought of him as the be all end all monument, somehow invincible to petty things like tired bodies and failing sight.

Fino didn’t know yet, but his own muscles, his own tendons and nerves and bones would be his own undoing. Squalo had known, and he’d left his death to enlighten Yamamoto as a last, cruel lesson.

As he watches Fino try to attack the dummy targets while maintaining his flame’s homeostasis, Yamamoto whispers to himself.

“Why did you leave me on my own with this kid, Squalo? I can’t believe I’ve lived long enough to teach a new rain guardian. Shouldn’t you be here…?”

His eyes drift down to the ring, cold and bright on his finger, always drawn back down to that heavy point.

-0-

Fino finally works himself up to the A rank. He’s proud of himself, after slowly learning to master his weakest point, and even Yamamoto had commented that he was a fast and thorough learner. Not that it mattered terribly much to him what the other thought. It was just nice to be acknowledged.

“When do you think I can practice with the Vongola ring?”

Yamamoto looks up at him, startled as one hand pauses in his crouch above his katana, oil rag suspended in the air.

“There’s a lot of practice still with using the flame left. You haven’t even used a box-”

“Hey, aren’t those restricted use?”

Yamamoto smiles a bit to himself, it was so like the younger man to think of such a strange thing like that. Fino was going to be a guardian, Yamamoto was already a guardian, and he wouldn’t have to worry about clearance for that type of thing.

“It’s fine, I’ll be supervising you anyway.”

“Am I going to open boxes when I use the guardian ring?”

There’s another pause as the oil rag halts it’s course, then continues to slide down the flat of the blade. Yamamoto gently puts it down at his side, setting down his katana with a small clack as well before he dusts himself off and get on his feet.

It’s strange, Fino hardly ever saw the other man without his katana, especially during training sessions. As the older man walks towards him, he sees Yamamoto reach deep into his pocket where he pulls out two different looking ornate boxes. One of them has a crest on the side, and it’s hard to see because it’s tilted away, but all of a sudden Yamamoto is only three feet in front of him.

“You can practice just trying to open it first. You don’t have to use it just yet.”

A small, cold object is pressed into his palm as Fino stares incomprehensibly at the gift in his hand. He’d heard Yamamoto always had the box he used in battle on him at all times, but there was a second one?

“Try it. You don’t need the family ring to open a box, and you need to learn how to do it fast, in any situation.”

Fino is too fascinated and dumbfounded to see the odd, quiet look in his mentor’s eyes as he concentrates everything into one finger, and locks it onto the slot on the side. He pushes and pushes to condense the flame and with all the will in his body, every cell on tenterhooks, he wishes it open with everything he has.

Nothing happens.

Fino can’t believe it, he tries again and again and again to somehow get the thing open with all his will, but nothing comes out. Yamamoto has to forcibly make him take a break, pushing him out the door to get something to eat and drink.

When he comes back, he sees Yamamoto standing alone in the center of the room, the massive white and grey body of a gigantic shark floating above his head in lazy, smooth circles. Eyes simply tracing the languid movement, Yamamoto seems almost contemplative as he reaches out to brush the beast a bit with his hand. The moment feels wholly private and out of place, and Fino wants to take back walking in on it, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to know more about Yamamoto or that occasional reflective look that he gets when Fino yells in frustration or masters a new attack, it simply wasn’t fair that he was somehow being compared-

He goes back out the room, and crouches over his mineral water, remembering the gentle way his instructor touched what was a simple weaponry extension. Fino waits a few more minutes before walking back in, finding Yamamoto seated again on the floor with his sword and the tiny box at his side.

“I’m going to open that box by the end of the day.”

The furious, determined glint in Fino’s eye makes Yamamoto believe him.

-0-

It hurts him, a little, the way that still handsome face looks so weary as his mentor glances down at the ring. This would be the first time the older man would have to take the thing off. Fino had to practice with it, and being able to use the actual thing signaled that he would be using it more often, from now on, till Yamamoto would no longer bear the Vongola ring.

He could tell that Yamamoto didn’t really want to give it up, not yet. All those daily habits, like twisting the rain ring when he was lost in thought, rubbing the scar at his chin, his casual asides when he says Fino really reminds him of someone he knew. Those things piled up around Yamamoto, the only instances that made the smiling man melancholy.

Fino hated to be the source of something painful.

“This…Squalo must have meant a lot to you.”

Yamamoto drops his hand, no longer staring thoughtfully at the silver ring he had just been twisting. Fino really was more observant than he’d thought; he’d never mentioned Squalo by name directly.

“Yeah. He- he should mean a lot to you too. I mean, this ring- your attacks, I’m passing this on to you, but it’s not really me passing it on to you. Haha, I don’t know if I’m making this clear or not, but-”

Somehow, Fino really wants to understand now, that feeling in his gut he felt when training with the older guardian that some phantom was silently weaving its way into their practices. Filtered behind every move he was taught, all those techniques of control and attack, was something unspoken that Fino couldn’t quite grasp at. He feels like he was one strand in a winding braid he would never be able to see the whole of.

“I think I know. This Squalo, whoever he was, was important to you. And you, you and him and that ring- I’m sorry.”

Awkwardly, Fino stretches upward, wrapping an arm around his mentor, tugging him down for a brief hug.

The old man’s eyes tilt in surprise, the insistent pull of this young man’s arm somehow melting his selfishness away.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s yours, Fino.”

Those filmy vestiges of wistfulness fade away as he holds on tight, wrapping his arm around his successor. It didn’t hurt so much, to think about living without the ring. Yamamoto’s head drops to this prodigy’s shoulder as he chokingly laughs in his throat.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t have met him. He was- pretty amazing.”

Fino didn’t need him to say that, he could already tell from meeting Yamamoto how great a man Squalo was.

 

THE END

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know it was a very roundabout way to express Yamamoto and Squalo's relationship, but I wanted to show how even if one of them wasn't there, there was still a legacy that had to be passed on. I feel like they are both deeply connected as rain guardians, especially because Squalo had essentially given up the ring to Yamamoto, and now he had to learn how to give it up to some one else too.


End file.
